The Prophecy Overheard
by Not Days but Knights
Summary: In choosing to listen in on Sibyll Trelawney's interview that fateful October night, Severus Snape failed to realize how much he would suffer for his choice, as well as how much would be lost on all sides for his cowardice. Slight Snape/Lily


The Prophecy Overheard

The Prophecy Overheard

Rating: PG

Characters: Snape, Dumbledore, Trelawney, mentions of Lily Evans

Summary: Severus Snape never truly realized the full and terrifying horrors in the act he committed on October 31, 1981, nor how much would be lost in his choice to convey the overheard prophecy to his master, Lord Voldemort. We join him the night all horrors unfold, and learn how foolish he sadly was.

The rain was falling hard and fast as Severus Snape entered the Hog's Head, his robes dripping with water as he shivered and removed his hood. A pathetic, grey sight greeted his entrance, as he gazed across the empty bar. The barman, with his grubby appearance, sparkling blue eyes which disgustingly reminded Snape of Albus Dumbledore, and dirty, ragged towel at hand, only gazed at the drenched Snape.

Snape could not help but feel as though he had just come out of a swimming pool, and could somehow understand the edgy look that the barman gave him as a result. He must've looked like a nearly drowned man with his pale complexion clashing against his full-black attire. He threw a look at the barman, wrinkling his nose as he attempted to hold back a sneer. He then removed his wand from his robes and waved it about, drying himself off. As he strode across the musty bar, he could not help but notice the fact that the place was always empty whenever he happened to visit. The room looked as filthy as ever, and the monotonous look of wooden chairs, wooden floor, and wooden tables gave Snape a clue as to why this place had never really become popular. Or perhaps it was the fact that the mug the barman was scrubbing absentmindedly had failed to show any positive improvements to its filthy appearance.

Snape slid into a chair at the corner table with his back to the door, with every intent on listening for sounds of life. He removed his wand again from his robes and thought intently, "Homenum Revelio" causing his mind to reveal the faces of the only other life forms within the bar: the barman himself, and – Snape's heart leapt with satisfaction – Albus Dumbledore who was twiddling his thumbs on a stool in a room upstairs. Knowing that the pieces were set successfully for this little game, Snape then raised his wand again and felt that odd sensation of water trickling down his back and body. As he looked at himself, he observed that his Disillusionment spell had worked successfully: his arms was as splintered, filthy and grey as the table it was resting on.

Being Disillusioned was as close to being physically invisible as Snape had ever been, and he enjoyed the sensation, as it gave him a feeling of security. He allowed his mind to wander freely, and as his mind slipped into an uncharacteristic daydream, Snape felt his mind stumble across the image of Lily Evans, and his heart sank. Immediately, Snape's apathetic and slightly nervous mood dissipated, greeted with simultaneous sadness and lingering devotion. It had been a few years now since he and Lily had last seen each other, let alone spoken to each other, and Snape's heart ached at the thought.

He knew he had ruined any chances with Lily ever since that horrible scene in their fifth year, but it still pained Snape to think about what was, and what could've been. Her beautiful smile, flaming red hair that shimmered in the sunlight, covering her shoulders like a flowing sea – as he thought about her, Snape realized with a sickening pang how much he missed her, and how much it hurt for him to realize that she was truly gone from his life. After all, he had passionately immersed himself in his only other love – his only accepting love – the Dark Arts, for the sake of attempting to forget. It was a typical, cowardly response, perfectly patterned with his character. Snape felt flames sparking in his insides as he realized that he was still running from his past, but worst of all, he knew there was nothing he could do now but sit and remember her.

It was this uselessness that frustrated Snape above all else, on top of the crushing feeling of defeat. It this, beyond anything, which had pushed Snape to dive headlong into the Dark Arts and into the service of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort had been accepting of his talents, creativity and thirst for revenge. This man beyond the common wizard had thought him to be extraordinary, and had embraced him as a valuable asset. It felt wonderful to be wanted, especially when the rest of the world that mattered to Snape had turned him away long ago. Voldemort had pushed him forward with his life, towards progress and success. As a result, he was here, carrying out the most important mission ever devised by the Dark Lord, and on the path of power, success, and potential to forget his past; Snape had risen out of the ashes at last.

There was a loud creaking noise coming from behind Snape, followed by the intensified sound of water falling in torrents outside. Snape did not have to turn around to know that someone new had entered the bar. He sat still, frozen with every intent of taking in his surroundings as a deer who has heard the cock of a gun. The sound of heels thudding and creaking against the floorboards signified to Snape that a woman had entered the bar, and the sound of jangling beads told him that this woman was wearing dozens upon dozens of bracelets and other jewelry. Snape waited silently as the woman strode across the bar into his parameter of vision, and he recognized the form as she clunked and stumbled across the room. The drifting smell of cooking sherry lingering within the midst of the smell of rainwater was the clue of confirmation: this was the woman who would reveal the coveted prophecy.

Snape could not help but feel a sense of disappointment with her appearance: she resembled a disheveled muggle fortune-teller, and her magnified eyes which shone through her oversized glasses made her look simply comical. As Snape watched this silly woman ascend the staircase and disappear from view, he could not help but develop a sense of disgust towards the pathetic creature. How was _this _the woman who would reveal the one who could defeat the Dark Lord?

He arose quietly from his seat, still wearing the Disillusionment charm. However, his feet creaked on the wooden floorboards, and Snape looked about wildly for a sign of the barman. He relaxed slightly as he noted that the barman was now concentrating with all of his might on a blackened something that was stuck to the bar table. As Snape arrived at the stairwell, he glanced upwards, and saw the door at the top of the stars close with a snap. He crept up the stairs, moving as quietly as possible, and finally settled in a small heap at the foot of the door. Excitedly, he prepared to press his ear to the door. Yet, he suddenly paused, realizing that Dumbledore might've put a spell of some sort on the door to prevent eavesdroppers; if Voldemort knew this was the woman who was going to give the prophecy, then surely Dumbledore would know, too. He found a scrap of parchment within the depths of his robes, crumpled it into a ball and threw it lightly at the door. It hit the wooden surface and fell with a the sound of wrinkling paper: the door was not charmed.

At last, Snape pressed his ear to the door and listened with all of his might.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," said a dazed, slightly drunken feminine voice.

"Good evening, Sibyll," Snape heard Dumbledore's familiar voice float throughout the room within. "May I offer you a drink?"

Snape rolled his eyes – Dumbledore was probably the only man on earth who still possessed ridiculously old-fashioned manners. He had probably risen and bowed upon her entrance, too.

"Thank you, Dumbledore," Trelawney responded graciously, and Snape heard the sound of a chair sliding across the floor followed by the sound of a body sitting down. Glasses clinked from within the room, and Snape heard the distinguishable sound of liquids being pouring.

"To your health, my dear," Dumbledore said. There was a temporary silence as the duo drained their glasses. Snape waited impatiently for the cordial introductory scene to pass.

"Now then," Dumbledore spoke again, "I feel we should get on with the application process, seeing as we both already know why we are here. Shall we begin?"

Sibyll must have nodded, because Dumbledore only continued to speak.

"Very good. Then tell me, can you see when this horrible rain is going to stop?"

"Ohh Albus," Trelawney began in a quaky voice. Snape felt as though some of the quiver in her voice was highly exaggerated, and Snape began to develop the suspicions that his master might have been very wrong about this woman. "I see darkness everywhere. Your future is... dark... indeed."

"Interesting," Dumbledore said, and Snape had to bite back a laugh, as it did sound as though Dumbledore possessed some form of interest. "Please explain – do you mean the weather?"

"Everything," Trelawney's act had reached a dramatic climax, "everything I can see is full of darkness. There is fear, Dumbledore, even you have fear in your heart. We are all in grave danger." Her voice emphasized the last few words with a couple extra vibratos, and Snape's interest began to dwindle. He stared at the floor, noticing a small bug scuttle by, covered in dirt and dust. He gazed absentmindedly at this little creature, allowing his mind to return to his memory of Lily. The dull atmosphere around him disappeared as he remembered those happy, innocent days he had spent with Lily. The day they'd first met, and how thrilled she was to learn that she was a witch and that there was someone in the world who admired her talents. She would never know that Snape had always admired more than her talents... always...

Her image was enough to be a form of a security comfort for Snape. Lily was more than a woman whom he could dote upon and adore, but a reminder of the peace in his heart and mind that he'd sought ever since he was a toddler. His home had never been much of a home, and school could only bring him an academic source of peace. Lily had understood him, looked up to him as a wizard, and perhaps had even loved him.

This was what tormented Snape above all else; some days it seemed to him that she had always loved him, and had only married James Potter to make him shut up. But at other times, during days in which he remembered his seventh year, and the glowing happiness he had seem in Lily's face as she walked hand in hand with Potter, Snape knew that she had never felt that way about him. She had admired him and stood up for him, respected him as a fellow human being. But she had never looked at him in the eye with a blazing passion or desire. The only blazing emotion she had ever looked at him in the eye with was anger.

This back-and-forward debate of the confusing and impossible subject of love would haunt Snape until his dying day, and he hated having this enigma which was unsolvable. Yet, it did not stop him from thinking about it, and thinking about her.

Snape's thoughts were filled with the background noise of the interview, as he half-heartedly listened to Dumbledore ask Trelawney about her family history, how many others claimed to be Seers, where she had gone to school, and how long she had been a Seer herself.

"I have been a Seer from birth," Trelawney said indignantly. "It is a gift, Dumbledore, not something that a common wizard or witch can learn," she explained, and there was a clear sense of arrogant, stubborn superiority in her tone.

"I see. Well, yes, I'm not too sure we are in need of your, ah, 'gift', at this point in time my dear Sibyll," Dumbledore said, and Snape heard him rising to his feet: the interview was over. Snape's heart sank slightly – he had failed Voldemort.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere a strong, echoing voice boomed out from the room, filling the entire bar with volume. Snape retreated in a crawl, away from the source of the noise.

"_THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM..."_

Snape paled as he realized he was hearing the prophecy. His body became frantic, as he scrambled back to his spot at the door, pressing his ear firmly against it even though the action was quite unnecessary. His heart raced with excitement. There were plenty of families in the opposing Order of the Phoenix who had thrice faced Lord Voldemort and escaped – the Longbottoms, the McKinnons, the Potters...

"_BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES..."_ the prophecy continued.

Snape felt his mouth drop open in horror. Neither Lily, James or either of the Longbottoms were born at the end of July... but weren't their children? Snape's mind struggled to recall those scenes in which the Death Eaters had rallied around Voldemort at headquarters, taunting fellow Eaters whose family trees were tainted from the reproductions within the Longbottom and Potter families. It had been a conflicting night for Snape, as he recalled forcing himself to laugh along with the rest as Voldemort spoke one insult after the other, dirtying the beautiful image of the half-blood, Lily. Somewhere within that chaotic scene, Snape remembered that the Potter's child had been born at the end of July...

But Snape could not hear the rest of the prophecy. He felt his Disillusionment charm being lifted as the feeling of water trickling over him occurred yet again, and suddenly there was a grubby, furious hand at his collar, dragging him backwards down the stairs. He bit back the pain as his backside consistently collided with the hard staircase, and he felt the wood splinter below him as he slid further and further away from his mission.

The world seemed to be sliding away from him as he continued to be dragged away from the prophecy His mind was a whirl – it could not be, he simply refused to believe that the prophecy applied to the Potters because if the Potters were the answer, it meant Lily was doomed to die. Nothing else mattered in the world anymore – not the fact that he was about to be thrown out in the thunderous rain, nor the fact that Lord Voldemort might actually punish him for failing to retrieve the entire prophecy. All that existed was the fact that Lily Evans was in danger. Snape's source of peace and happiness was destined to die... the woman he loved might perish, and it'd be his fault.

At last, Snape felt himself being thrown backwards out into the rain. He landed with a sickening splash into a large puddle of sludge-water, and he groaned as he rose slowly to his feet.

"And stay out!" yelled the gruff voice of the barman from the foot of the door. Snape watched furiously as the barman wiped his hands on his apron and re-entered the Hog's Head. He stood for a moment with the water pouring down around him, allowing his heavy breathing to subside, and his black, slick hair to hang straight and heavy over his face as he became wetter and wetter.

He began to turn on the spot, prepared to Apparate, but a nagging sensation held him back. He had a choice – for the first time in his life, Severus Snape had a moral choice. He could report to Lord Voldemort, and put Lily's life at risk. Or, he could defy his master, thereby forcing himself to go into hiding for the rest of his life at the expense of Lily's safety. The choices were taunting, one benefit equally matching the other. Snape put his face in his hands and let out a small roar of frustration, kicking the puddle he continued to stand in. Surely, Lily mattered above all else and so surely, he must not tell Voldemort what he had heard. But what if he were caught? He'd be killed _and _forced to convey the prophecy. Perhaps if he faced Voldemort with the information he'd be able to bargain for Lily's life. It seemed reasonable enough.

With that, Snape spun on the spot and began to Apparate.

"Coward," he felt himself say as he disappeared. "Coward, coward, coward, coward."

Despite the rain pouring down around him, it was clear that a tear was streaming down his face.


End file.
